


Holiday Hair Drama

by ElDiablito_SF, The Mighty Porthos (Porthos4ever)



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Filthy Disgustoids pollute everything, Humor, M/M, Meta, Spanking, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21883240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porthos4ever/pseuds/The%20Mighty%20Porthos
Summary: Aramis really wants Athos to come with him to a very special holiday party.
Relationships: Athos/Aramis
Comments: 17
Kudos: 13





	Holiday Hair Drama

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Donna_Immaculata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donna_Immaculata/gifts).



> Happy Chrisnukkah to Donna and Audience and All Comers!
> 
> El said to Zoi "My hair salon is having a holiday party. Who the heck would go to a holiday party at a hair salon?" And then we both realized... ARAMIS. And this is how our gayby was conceived!

"Who the fuck would go to a holiday party at a hair salon?"

“People who take pride in their appearance, for one thing,” Aramis replied with a sneer while fixing his hair in front of the trifold mirror. Pale, slender fingers wove in and out of strands of silken black.

Athos tried not to get distracted from the matter at hand. “You mean, losers who have no friends hoping to meet other shallow people?”

“How do you know I’m not trying to pick up a hairdresser, hmm?”

“Because you’re _making_ me come _with_ you?”

“As if we’ve never brought home a third,” Aramis winked.

“Porthos doesn’t count.”

“For sex.”

Athos only nodded with a pensive expression on his face.

“Are you actually listening to me, you hopeless lech?” asked Aramis.

“Mmhmm, for sex.”

“Look, I can’t go to this party alone! No one goes to a holiday party _single_. Do you know what it will look like if I show up to the hair salon holiday party without my devastatingly handsome partner on my arm?" In the mirror, Aramis met his gaze, casting his eyes down for a moment to let the fringe of his eyelashes brush against his cheeks.

Athos managed to turn the noise that escaped his throat into a soft cough. So, Aramis had reached the "flattery" phase of trying to convince him. Things were getting desperate. Or promising, depending on how long he could manage to go without giving in.

“I imagine, like a man with a sensible partner who had better things to do?”

At that, Aramis actually pouted. "You don't understand the gossip your senseless obstinacy will cause."

Athos shrugged. "Clearly."

The shapely pout on Aramis' lips thinned slightly, and Athos felt his cock twitch at the promise of what would surely come next. "Athos. You're coming with me."

"Or?"

The tip of Aramis's tongue briefly traced along his bottom lip. On the dressing table his fingers curled around the handle of the wide wooden paddle brush. "You know what."

Athos' mouth went dry, all fluids apparently heading south at once. "I think you should remind me," he managed to rasp out. Surely having to endure the most tedious of holiday parties would be worth it.

Aramis narrowed his eyes, his black pupils razor-focused on Athos’ reflection in the mirror while he let the cool, hard back of the hairbrush slide against the palm of his hand.

“Consider this the carrot _and_ the stick.” Aramis grinned like an asshole and set the brush down.

***

Athos wasn't particularly sure what he had expected of a holiday party at a hair salon. Perhaps celebratory head massages? It certainly wasn't this awkward mix of tapas and questionable wine, the work stations converted into the occasional bar table festively wrapped in gold holographic cellophane.

“Moose?” a young woman with a green streak in her brown hair asked, her eyes fixed on Athos’ crotch.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Athos startled, taking a step back.

“Do you want free samples of this mousse? Oribé is excellent for your curls,” the woman explained. "Or you could try the Bumble and Bumble curl serum?"

Athos tried to look around for Aramis to rescue him. His lover, unfortunately, was still being talked at by the blonde woman with the pink frosted tips. "They're totally immortals!" she exclaimed passionately, waving her wine glass so enthusiastically it nearly slopped over.

"Im _moral_?" Aramis repeated, brows knitting together.

"Immortals," the woman repeated. "It's all in the text, you just have to know where to look. Anyway, you really should read my derivative piece - " at this she lowered her voice conspiratorially, to an almost regular volume. "My other gay friends say I write gay porn _very_ well."

The Moose - Mousse - sample girl reached out to catch one of Athos' curls between her pointer and middle fingers. "You must use something. This is natural curl, yes? They're so beautifully defined, I could die. Men have such amazing hair."

“Y-yeah…” Athos stammered. “I am very good at making hair.”

The hairdresser’s eyes moved to the hollow of his neck and Athos was suddenly questioning the number of buttons he didn’t do all the way up.

“I can see that,” the girl replied with a soft purr.

“Um… I… just kind of wet it in the morning and run my fingers through it,” he found himself saying, inexplicably. “That’s all.”

The girl laughed and slapped his arm, letting her hand linger over his bicep. “I hate you,” she whispered.

It was beginning to dawn on Athos that Aramis may have had ulterior motives for forcing him to attend this event. Motives like... a beard. Or not beard. Was it a beard if you were hiding from unwanted affections behind your actual partner? Or - a flash of sudden horror - was he perhaps here to be the sacrificial lamb?

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!" A booming voice rang out from the front door of the establishment, drawing the attention of the woman in front of him, and everyone else in the salon. For one blessed moment Athos thought it might be a sign to convert to Christianity, or whatever ancient pagan festival had birthed the red suited avatar of holiday cheer that was currently carrying a three foot long plastic-wrapped cheese platter through the door. But this figure was not, of course, Jolly Old Saint Nick, but a much more beloved character.

"Porthos!" he exclaimed, quickly extricating himself from Ms. Natural Curl Fetish. He caught one end of the cheese tray, helping his friend set it on the salon reception counter.

“Why, hello there, you little ho ho ho,” Porthos pulled Athos into a bone-crushing hug. “What’s got you all hot and bothered? Have you been dipping into the eggnog?”

“Just shut up and help me escape with what’s left of my virtue still intact,” Athos whispered.

“I see, I see!” Porthos declared, eyeing the room with a look of a connoisseur. “I _see_ ,” he repeated as his eyes alighted on the mousse sample wench, still looking in their direction with a glazed over look in her eyes and heaving bosom. Porthos threw one arm protectively over Athos’ shoulders. “And where is your much prettier half?”

“Hey!”

“No…?”

“Well…” Athos felt a flush creep up his neck. “He’s abandoned me to my fate, it seems, in favor of discussing what I can only surmise is some kind of homoerotic fanfiction.”

“Did someone say homoerotic fanfiction?”

Athos turned to find Aramis grinning at him over the top of the head of the pretty blonde he’d spent the better part of the last half an hour chatting up.

“I rather prefer the real thing,” Athos groused and pulled Aramis closer so he could whisper into his ear, “ _Why am I here, you little demon?_ ”

“You’re here to support my hobbies,” Aramis replied with a cool and unmoved demeanor. “Marie, I’d like you to meet my partner. Marie - Athos. Athos - Marie. She’s the one responsible for at least 25% of how great I look on a regular basis.”

That Athos could appreciate. He gave Marie a nod, "I like the, uh, pink ends."

"Oh, thank you! I just had the balayage redone last week," Marie chirped in reply, shaking her head like a shampoo commercial model.

Athos nodded like he understood whatever language she was speaking. "And Porthos is... also a client?"

"He likes to get a shampoo and a neck trim every other week," Marie replied, and leaned closer with a smirk. "But I think he's just widow-shopping."

Athos almost choked on his extremely buttery chardonnay. “I think you’ve got him dead to rights, Ma’am.”

“Oh, Aramis, you cad!” Marie elbowed Athos’ lover playfully. “Why have you been hiding your paramour from me? Why, he’s a paragon of everything that I need to better research for my writing.”

“He doesn’t like to be supportive,” Aramis shrugged. “He’d hate for me to think he actually cares, it would ruin his entire façade of nonchalance.”

“That’s not true! I’m supportive!” Athos protested with a frown. “You should see me up against the wall, Marie.”

At that, the pretty blonde actually spurted her own drink out of her mouth, and ran off in the direction of the toilet in a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“Are you happy now?” Aramis asked with a scowl.

Athos smirked complacently in reply.

“Do I not bear up like a saint with all of _your_ insipid so-called hobbies?” Aramis pressed. “Do I not go with you to the horse races and pretend it's cultural while we both know it's really about _gambling_ , you utter profligate!” Athos was about to reply, but Aramis wasn’t finished berating him yet. “Do I not sit next to you, like a dutiful wife, holding your hand while you watch basketball games, and pretend that you’re a _fan_ when we both know it’s just because you have money riding on the game! Oh, good lord, it just dawned on me I’ve been enabling your gambling addiction all these years.” Aramis covered his mouth with his dainty hand in a perfect imitation of a gasp.

“Hey, at least I occasionally win some money that way! All the money you spend on your precious _hair_ , baby, just washes down the literal drain!”

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Aramis leaned close to hiss, dark eyes reflecting the glittering wall of Christmas LEDs. "You certainly seem to enjoy pulling it when you're reaming my asshole."

Athos sat his wine glass on the counter. “The _mouth_ on you, kitten! A man might feel compelled to wash it out with cock.”

“Your husband died last year?!?!” Porthos’ voice boomed from across the room. “That’s _horrible_ , honey babe!”

“Well,” Athos sighed, “at least someone is having a good time tonight.”

“You’re really asking for it,” Aramis breathed against Athos’ ear.

“Well, certain promises were made,” Athos replied, leaning into the heat of his irate lover’s body.

"I'll have to use my hand here, you know.”

“We’re in a fucking hair salon, Aramis. Are you going to tell me your friend Marie doesn’t have a hairbrush she would donate for a good cause?”

"Well I suppose the only thing better than reddening your ass is doing it in public." Aramis turned, pulling open the third drawer of the station behind him and retrieving a brush satisfyingly much like the one at home.

Athos hummed. “Mmmm, kitten, you know where Marie keeps all her good toys, do you?”

“Shut up, you pervert.”

Athos only mouthed _Make me_ at him.

“Stay right there, darling, I’ll get you more brie!” Porthos floated past them, flashing them a toothy grin and two thumbs up.

Athos rapped on the bathroom door with impatience. “What is she doing in there? Writing some gay smut?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Aramis replied with a dark look suffused with simmering lust.

The bathroom door opened and Marie’s flushed face appeared as she leaned against the door frame, her phone clutched in one of her hands. “What d’you want?”

“We _want_ to use the bathroom,” Athos explained with the patience of a saint. A saint sporting a ginormous boner.

Marie raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Together?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Can I watch?”

“No, but you can listen from here,” Aramis offered benevolently. One hand still clutching the brush, he tapped it against the small of his back like a promise.

The door latched behind Athos’ back with a satisfying click. He looked ahead of himself in the mirror and his eyes met those of Aramis, who stood behind him while fumes of irritation sleeted off his skin, making his black eyes kindle dangerously.

“You infuriating, filthy pervert,” Aramis stage-whispered. “Couldn’t even wait to get home for your punishment, could you?”

Athos licked his lips, eyes never leaving Aramis’ in the mirror. “No, sir,” he hummed. It was a very nice bathroom, which was to say it had a very sturdy vanity, with a counter that was just the right height. "Shall I assume the position, sir?"

Aramis’ fingers wound through Athos’ curls with a sudden pull and his breath scalded Athos’ earlobes. “I think you shall, pet. Let me see that ass like a good boy.”

Athos bit his lip on a soft grunt, quickly unbuckling his slacks. He briefly considered taking off the belt entirely in the hopes that Aramis might use that next, but that level of athleticism tended to get rather louder than was strictly acceptable in a public bathroom. Instead he slid his slacks and silk boxers down to his knees, bending over to rest on his forearms on the vanity and giving his ass a wiggle. "This ass?”

Aramis silently allowed his fingers to brush against the skin that was presented to his gaze, a gentle barely there touch that ghosted across Athos’ hip and left him shivering in anticipation.

“So pretty,” Aramis purred into Athos’ ear as he leaned over, infuriatingly still managing to supply minimal contact. “Almost seems a damned shame to make it all red and bruised.”

“If only I didn’t deserve it for being such a bad, unsupportive boyfriend,” Athos prodded.

“You are indeed a terrible boyfriend," Aramis agreed, and without warning punctuated his words with two sharp blows, one to each ass cheek.

Athos closed his eyes, sighing out his breath in a groan. The hairbrush made purchase much like the one at home, just the right combination of stinging and thud. The smooth, polished surface of the wood stroked slow circles over each ass cheek, promising more. It certainly wasn't as hard as Aramis could go with proper kinky implements, especially since brushes were terribly inclined to break, but it was a fantastic level of intensity for this kind of play. Especially when -

Two more swats interrupted his train of thought. "And what have you learned?"

“Huh?” Endorphins occluded Athos’ brain. “Pink tips are called a balayage?”

"No!" This time several blows fell in rapid succession, Aramis' teeth grit. Then he stopped. "Well, yes, but that's not what I meant! You really can't think with more than one head at once, can you?"

"No, sir," Athos agreed, because it seemed like the safe thing to do. Then he whimpered as Aramis turned the brush around, stiff boar bristles scratching over his delicate and sensitized skin. "Ohhhh...."

"What you've learned," Aramis said slowly, still scratching the brush in circles over his aristocratic bum, "Is that if you are a _good_ boyfriend and agree to these little outings the first time I ask - "

"But - spankings - " Athos complained, giving a soft cry as Aramis delivered with the brush. "You like this too, don't you?"

"Of course I like tenderizing your veal, I’m not completely bereft of reason," Aramis growled. "And if you were smart enough to agree to things the first time I asked, I could spank you before we go out _and_ after we get home. Understand?"

"I can compromise," Athos panted, arching his back to present his ass more in the strangely flattering light of the salon’s toilet. Aramis, clearly satisfied with this apparent teachable moment, went to work properly, not stopping until Athos was whimpering and squirming on trembling legs, his ass burning and throbbing in pleasant waves that sent jolts of excitement to the very nubs of his nipples.

"Very good," Aramis growled, breathless with satisfaction. “I see you’ve learned an important relationship lesson tonight.” He dropped the brush onto the counter, then leaned back against the bathroom door, starting to undo his trousers. "You're forgiven. You may bring yourself off while you swallow my cock."

Careful not to trip over his own unbuckled slacks, Athos lowered himself to his knees with a wide grin. “Oh, kitten is the epitome of generosity.”

Outside the bathroom door, Porthos’ voice could be heard asking someone rather loudly, “What are you doing over there, young lady? Goodness, are you taking _notes_? Let me see!”

And Marie’s reply, “Are they _always_ like this?”

“Yeah,” Athos shrugged, and put Aramis’ cock back into his mouth.

_And they heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,  
Happy Fucking to all, and to all a good night!_


End file.
